How to Stop Your Brain in an Accident
Future of the Left (Prescriptions)

"I cannot identify the bloodied bodies of my loved ones/They were killed whilst watching a new television show on the MTV network," deadpans Andy Falkous on "Singing of the Bonesaws," a near-spoken-word track on Future of the Left’s latest album. Note the "whilst" — the more sardonic he gets, the more thoroughly and properly Welsh he becomes. Falkous is the sort of acerbic character who’d sneer at the concept of a masterpiece, so let’s just say that his last two albums with Future of the Left have thoroughly outpaced those of the band’s peers.

"Travels With Myself and Another," released in 2009, found middle ground between Wire, Devo and the Pixies, and Falkous filled that ground with stories of international arms deals, dinosaurs and throwing bricks at trains. Last year’s brilliant "The Plot Against Common Sense" was the band’s Condition of England novel (hint: the condition is woeful), and the angrier Falkous got, the funnier and more profound the songs were.

Future of the Left was still breaking in two new members at the time of the writing of "Common Sense," so while the music was typically ferocious, the album sounds more like a Falkous solo effort than the band’s other sets do. That’s not a problem on "How to Stop Your Brain in an Accident." Falkous has retired his synthesizers, and the retooled pure guitar-rock band now thrusts spears at the listener in a tight phalanx. It will come as no surprise to longtime fans to learn that this new arrangement has resulted in some of the loudest, densest, most brutal music in the Future of the Left catalog.

"Future Child Embarrassment Matrix," for example, is a smoldering river of sludge — a grinding riff, a shouted vocal, distortion and static, and a protest lodged against the universe. "Things to Say to Friendly Policemen" finds Falkous shouting a lung out in the midst of a sandblast of six-string; it’s a hundred seconds long, and it’s great.

"Brain" also attempts to realize the pop ambitions that often have been buried behind the industrial-strength beats and sarcastic comments. The very funny "Johnny Borrell Afterlife" — a tale of the "boy with the biggest head in school" — approaches the brittle energy of early Blur. "Donny of the Decks" is a vintage college rock shout-along, and "The Male Gaze," which could be the best thing here, is muscled-up, food-poisoned new wave. "French Lessons" may be the first Future of the Left song that could legitimately be called tender; on it, Falkous, who usually seems like a man in the midst of mayhem, gets comfortable by the fireside.

Falkous isn’t mellowing or growing up — he’d have to retire the band if he ever did — but he sounds less furious at the outside world, and a bit more worried about his chances of ever making peace with it. For his sake, I hope he does. For ours, I hope he keeps grabbing it and shaking it with everything he’s got.— Tris McCall

Like a Dream
Francis and the Lights (Good Years)

The frustrating Francis Farewell Starlite (aka Francis and the Lights) likes to say that Strunk and White’s "The Elements of Style" — a book that advises writers to remove unnecessary detail and keep things brief — is his main inspiration. It’s served him well. But in 2014, I’d be awfully obliged if somebody would take it away from him. Francis may indeed be one of the best pop songwriters in America, but it’s hard to tell when he releases music as parsimoniously as he does. He’s like the author of an impeccably drawn, endlessly promising webcomic that never updates. "Like a Dream" — a gleaming, soulful four-song EP that, like almost all of his work, plays like a teaser for something bigger that never comes — breaks a three-year silence. The new collection is another application of his mastery of piano and synthesizer pop, pitched somewhere between the Blue Nile and Peter Gabriel at his most meditative, and gorgeous songs such as "Etc." and "If They Don’t Come Tomorrow" are at once funkier and more atmospheric than the tracks on "It’ll Be Better," his sole long-player. It’s a worthy addition to an underappreciated discography, but at this point, Francis and the Lights needs to set his perfectionism aside, and risk making a mistake.— Tris McCall

Siberia Acoustic
Lights (Last Gang)

Sudden eruptions of trendy, impersonal dubstep made "Siberia," the second album by Ontario synthpop songwriter Lights, a tougher listen than it should have been. (Lights was hardly alone there: Many of the world’s biggest pop stars fell victim to the dubstep bug in 2011.) "Siberia Acoustic," a complete do-over, retains the songs but swaps out the synthesizers, samplers and drum machines for guitar and acoustic piano. The reimagining of "Siberia" feels like a liberation, and reveals a well-written, ’70s style singer-songwriter folk-pop set lurking behind the chilly electronic textures of the original version. Lights, who is a strong acoustic guitarist as well as an imaginative synthesizer player, proves herself to be comfortable in a variety of throwback modes, including jazz-pop ("Flux and Flow"), easygoing country-folk ("Banner") and soft rock ("Cactus in the Valley," a duet with Adam Young of Owl City, her ideological twin). All of these songs had been saddled with monochromatic and occasionally grim synthpop production that made them feel similar; the "Acoustic" versions demonstrate how varied Lights’ writing actually is. Lights has the capacity to record synthpop as intimate as "Siberia Acoustic": "The Listening," her debut, is a warm, flickering candle of a set. Siberia, apparently, is a beautiful place to be during a thaw, and Lights’ acoustic redux suggests she’s coming in out of the cold.— Tris McCall

Don’t Look Back
Jenny & the Felines (self-released)

Will somebody tip off Pat DiNizio of the Smithereens to Jenny & the Felines? Chances are, he’d appreciate the aesthetic on "Don’t Look Back" — and the band’s economy, too. The Raritan trio draws from the many of the same sources that have inspired the Smithereens over the years: classic ’60s pop and soul, girl groups and vintage soundtracks, noir fiction and romances, and pre-Beatles rock ’n’ roll of the Chirping Crickets variety. In diner-jukebox style, the Felines play it tight, rarely pushing their songs past the three-minute mark. Frontwoman Jenny Cat keeps the songcraft sturdy and succinct, emphasizing lively melodic phrases, singalong choruses and smart lyrics about the challenges of grown-up romantic relationships. As is often true about power-pop albums, "Don’t Look Back" is frontloaded: The title track, the follow-up "The Worst Kind" and the swinging, bottom-heavy "I Hope She Knows" is a winning opening flurry, reminiscent of Cheap Trick, the Bangles, and newer Jersey bands such as the Candy Hearts. The back half of the album gets repetitive, and the de rigueur period reverb works against the crispness of the band’s songs. But if you appreciate Jersey pop-rock revivalists like the Grip Weeds, the Anderson Council and the Black Hollies, you’re likely to find "Don’t Look Back" another history lesson well worth hearing.
— Tris McCall